


Learn to Fly

by stardropdream



Category: Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-01-12
Packaged: 2017-11-25 06:51:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/636253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The days that follow after Tomoyo-hime brings Kurogane to the castle, and a glimpse on how he begins to cope with the loss of his parents.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learn to Fly

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ June 13, 2008.

“So far, I haven’t told you my name, have I?” she asked and it was painful how friendly and kind she was being.  
  
“…Isn’t it Tsukuyomi?” he asked softly, his throat still dry from crying and screaming.   
  
“This is only a hereditary name given to the one who oversees the kekkai of Japan,” she answered calmly. Her eyes softened. “My real name is Tomoyo. And you are…?”  
  
Her voice was very quiet, soft and gentle. He stared at her and wondered how she could be so calm and so peaceful in this situation. For a moment, he forgot how to speak, forgot who he was, where he was, and who was conspicuous only in their absence. He clenched his eyes shut and tried to remember to breathe. She looked like _her_ and the memories were too fresh, too painful, too close to the surface to make him think on a functional level.   
  
She sat there so calmly and it hurt. It hurt so much to look at her and see his mother’s face, a face he’d never see again. He realized, after a moment, that she was waiting for an answer.  
  
He licked his dry, parched lips and tried not to break into more tears. “… Kurogane.”   
  
Tomoyo nodded her head. “It’s nice to meet you, Kurogane. You may stay here for as long as you need.”  
  
He nodded his head and closed his eyes.   
  
Tomoyo’s expression gentled, and her eyes were pained. Slowly, she inched off of the bed, brushed her fingertips over his bruised knuckles on his right hand, and left him in peace. But he was far from peace. He stared up at the ceiling and burst into tears as soon as the door was shut behind her.   
  
He didn’t sleep well, because his head was full of death and destruction and his head throbbed from a painful headache, even long after he’d run out of tears to shed.   
  
  
\---  
  
  
When the replication of his father’s sword was given to him he didn’t want to touch it. The idea of touching a sword again, of fighting, repulsed him. He’d cringed as he’d held it. He’d never held the family heirloom until it’d fallen from the monster’s mouth. It felt the same as that one, light and versatile but heavy with the magic and responsibility he would inherit.   
  
And he didn’t feel worthy.   
  
He almost threw it across the room, but knew he could never do something so disrespectful, even to a mere replica. He sank to his knees with the sword in front of him, biting his lip and trying not to cry again. He sagged under the weight of that responsibility. He couldn’t handle it—wouldn’t handle it. He was not worthy of it.  
  
His mother’s dead face haunted him.  
  
His father’s last words taunted him.   
  
Tomoyo-hime’s kindness confused him.   
  
The sword remained untouched for weeks.   
  
  
\---  
  
  
“You’ve been standing out here for a long while,” the tall woman, Souma, said one morning as she walked across the veranda and joined him. He stood, stiff and tense, staring up at a tall sakura tree. He didn’t say anything, but she continued, “This is a very old tree—very powerful.”   
  
He watched a sakura blossom—pink and soft in the morning light—float down and land softly in the water running in a little stream through the castle grounds. He nodded his head numbly.   
  
Souma didn’t say anything, but he could feel her sympathy and her respect to him. He didn’t feel worthy of it.   
  
The woman didn’t speak with him for a long moment before she said, “It’s the same for me.”   
  
“Huh?”   
  
“Her majesty, Kendappa-ou, is the one who found me after my providence was torn apart by monsters and war,” Souma said calmly. “I owe my life to her, and have sworn to protect her.”   
  
He didn’t tear his eyes away from the tree above their heads. A full flower in bloom fell from the boughs of the ancient tree and landed on his head. He cupped it gently in his fingertips, ignoring the protest in his still-healing hand, and regarded the soft petals silently.   
  
Souma didn’t touch him and didn’t look at him, but it was in that moment that he felt a certain kinship for the woman. She brushed some sakura blossoms from her shoulder and smiled, not unkindly, down at him.   
  
“You’ll find your place.”   
  
And with that, she walked away. He watched her go and wasn’t sure whether he should believe her or not.   
  
  
\---  
  
  
Tomoyo-hime found him the next day, practicing a lunge with the replica of his father’s sword. She didn’t say anything, but her smile nearly broke his heart—because her eyes reflected the same admiration and confidence that his mother did. And he wasn’t ready to accept that yet.  
  
He jumped up and sliced the air in a downwards lunge to distract him from memories that weren’t yet ready to resurface.   
  
  
\---  
  
  
His days were punctuated by his training. It didn’t seem quite like it used to be, when it was his father teaching him his moves and sending him to deal with demons on the outskirts of Suwa. Now it was painful at every swipe, every sweep, every memory that refused to heal. The sword was heavy in his hands.   
  
One day, as he trained, the sound of a harp filtered past his ears. He paused, rubbing at the sweat still clinging to his forehead, looking off and trying to locate the sound of the music. He followed the sound, his footsteps heavy and his breathing even heavier. He wasn’t sure why he was so desperate to find the source of the sound.  
  
As he rounded a corner, he saw the empress, Tomoyo-hime’s sister, sitting on a bridge over a small creek. She didn’t look up as he approached her, but he could tell that she was aware of his presence by the slight slant of her eyes towards him before returning to the instrument cradled elegantly in her arms.   
  
“Good morning, Kurogane,” she greeted once he’d come closer.  
  
“Hn.”  
  
"You've had a lot on your mind, yes?"   
  
He shrugged.   
  
"About your family."  
  
He cringed.   
  
"I understand."   
  
"...You do?" He looked at her.  
  
She smiled and gestured to a spot beside her. Hesitantly, he sat down beside her.   
  
“Life is pain, Kurogane. Death brings release.”   
  
He stared up at the empress, not sure if he wanted to believe her or was afraid to believe her.   
  
“Life is a very painful thing indeed. You are a prime example of that pain.”   
  
“I guess…”  
  
“Death is peaceful. Once it is over, that is the end. They may rest in peace, without regrets.” The harp music was gentle and peaceful, and her words were melodic. “Do you believe that your parents died with regrets, Kurogane?”   
  
Kurogane was very quiet. His eyebrows knit together and he shifted uncomfortably beside the empress. He’d never thought of such things before. He didn’t want to. It was easier to just avoid the pain and accept his parents were never coming back.   
  
“Mother and Father…” he said slowly, “… died to protect Suwa. That was what they gave their lives to do.”   
  
“And you were able to live.”   
  
His face rippled in pain.   
  
“I failed them.”  
  
“You lived.”   
  
“I should have protected them better.”  
  
“This is a regret all who live possess.”   
  
He was silent.  
  
She continued: “Did they die without regret, Kurogane?”   
  
“… I hope so.”  
  
“Then they will surely rest in peace knowing their only son was able to live in their place. And their son will continue to grow strong.”  
  
“I hope they’re able to rest in peace,” he said quietly.   
  
“Don’t waste this life, and they will.”   
  
He nodded.   
  
“I won’t…”  
  
  
\---  
  
  
It was snowing. The flakes were white and fluffy and lovely. He hated them. The last time it had snowed in Suwa, his mother had been healthy, smiling and gently running her hand over his forehead as he told her about the latest monster he’d vanquished while Father was away.   
  
That’d been a long winter.  
  
This one was shaping up to be long, cold, and lonely.   
  
Tomoyo-hime found him in the back garden, his feet and hands red and numb from the cold. His breath billowed out past his lips, misting instantly and rising high above his head before disappearing. His eyes were unfocused, even with Ginryuu in front of him, gripped tightly between those pink fingertips.   
  
She reached out a hand to touch his forearm. He jerked aside, sword at a ready. But his eyes focused in time to realize who it was he was turning towards and stopped short, the sword falling from his hand.   
  
“Tomoyo-hime…”  
  
He dropped down to his knees, staring down at his sword, nestled in the already collecting snow. Tomoyo-hime’s eyes softened sympathetically.   
  
“Kurogane, you shouldn’t be out here all by yourself. You’ll catch a cold.”  
  
“That’s not my name,” he said after an impossibly long pause. He shook his head and said, softer this time, “That’s not… my name.”   
  
“It isn’t?” Tomoyo didn’t sound nearly as surprised as she should have. But for some reason he couldn’t be angry with her. Her smile was so much like his mother’s, and it hurt him to look at her.   
  
“No,” he protested. He clenched his eyes shut and shook his head again. “My real name is Youou.”   
  
“Youou,” Tomoyo said, testing the word on her tongue. She fell silent for a moment before adding, “Hawk King.”   
  
He forgot to breathe for a moment. He nodded his head. “Mother… gave me that name.”   
  
“… Did she?” Tomoyo’s voice is warm and understanding. She doesn’t press the subject. Anyone could see that the wound from the loss of his mother and father was still bleeding.   
  
“She always said… hawks were protectors. When you see a hawk before riding into battle, you know that the gods are looking down on you favorably,” he whispered. “Hawks are messengers, protectors, and visionaries. She told me that when I was younger.”  
  
He bit his lip and the pain that shoots through his body reminds him to keep a level head. He hated himself for the weakness in his voice, the way it wobbled as he talked about her.   
  
“She’d always smile at me and say ‘you will be a great protector. And your name will protect you.’” He tipped his head back and stared at the sky, only vaguely aware that the snow was falling on his face, kissing his pink cheeks. “But I… I failed that name.”   
  
Tomoyo was silent, and she gently grabbed his two hands in her own. His were cold and hers were warm. He bit his lip again to keep from sobbing. He was too strong for tears. He couldn’t cry again.   
  
“Your mother, her ladyship, loved you,” Tomoyo said sympathetically. “She protected you with—”  
  
“ _I’m_ the one who should have protected her!” he snapped, snatching his hands back and cradling them against his chest, looking stricken. “If I’m supposed to be some great protector, why couldn’t I protect Suwa? Why couldn’t I help Father? Why couldn’t I _save_ Mother from that… from that sword!”  
  
Tomoyo doesn’t say anything, so he continued:   
  
“It’s my fault they died. If I’d protected her better the kekkai wouldn’t have fallen and…”  
  
He couldn’t look at Tomoyo, but the small intake of breath told him that she was upset, too. She grabbed his hands again, and her hold was firm this time, and he didn’t make a move to pull them away from her. He could tell that she was weighing her words, thinking of the right thing to say. It reminded him so much of his mother that he couldn’t fight the wave of tears that flooded his vision. He dipped his head in agony.   
  
“She wouldn’t want you to blame yourself. She’d want you to be happy,” she reminded him. And he knows this, and it only makes him feel worse. She paused again, calculating her words. “She loved you and she died so that you could live.”  
  
“That’s not—”  
  
“It’s not right for a parent to bury her own child,” Tomoyo said, and her voice was still soft and understanding, but there was an undertone that commanded him to be quiet and to listen.   
  
He nodded his head, bitterly, though her words did little to settle the revulsion and disappointment weighing in his heart. Her grip on his hand tightened.   
  
“There are many things that you have yet to experience but you will experience,” Tomoyo continued. “In the end, everything will come to pass and you’ll understand why some things happened the way they did.”   
  
“I…”  
  
“You will grow strong, Youou. You will not fail either of your names.”  
  
“Either…”  
  
“You are Kurogane now. You will always be Youou. You will always have the protection of the visionaries,” Tomoyo whispered. “But now you are Kurogane. That is a name you chose.”   
  
“Tomoyo-hime…”  
  
“Trust me. You will not fail this name.”


End file.
